A Normal Day
by MosinM38
Summary: Set in the Chinook AU universe...What IS a normal day like? You never see them in the show. Mild Language, adult situations...very minor.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:You know the drill...Only my own characters.

Timeline Layout:Bombs+61-63? days. Set the day after the episode Blackjack.

Series Layout:This is set in the Chinook Series. It focus's around the Stout family 15 miles from a small town Called Chinook. Chinook is roughly 65 miles North of Jericho and 135 Miles south of Blackjack trading post.

Thanks to SherryG for the patient proof-reading of my work :D

Chapter Layout: Trying to outline mainly a NORMAL day...Remember...Real life isn't constant action and drama like portrayed on TV.

--

Waking up, Grant looked at his watch. 3:30 AM. A little earlier than usual, but understandable. The previous day's trip to Blackjack had given him a mild adrenline rush, forcing him to sleep sounder than normal. This had been the first night in almost two months that he hadn't spent half the night tossing and turning. Just thinking about everything around them.

He got out of bed and put on his outside clothes. Anymore, no one on this place changed out of their clothes to sleep. The low heat levels in the rooms, combined with the need to be able to respond quickly to anything, simply outweighed any slight comfort factor.

Although he picked up his carbine, and strapped on his handgun he left the armored vest. It was bulky and today would be spent working so he didn't bother putting it on.

Walking down the trailer's hallway, he paused outside of Sharon's door and quietly eased it open. Grant peeked inside and found her still sleeping. which was a good idea. He doubted she had slept much during her stay at Blackjack and she would need the rest. He shut the door and continued out of the trailer.

He finished his rounds of the fuel tanks and grain bins before continuing on to the main buildings. It was a short walk, only about half a mile, so the walk passed quickly.

Crossing the large earth levee surrounding the buildings he walked towards the barn and corrals. Every morning before breakfast he had some chores to do. Everyone did something and one of his jobs was to feed the animals they had.

Coming to the barn he laid his carbine inside and grabbed a pitchfork off the wall. Walking to feed the milkcows he passed the horse pen. It's two occupants trotted up to the fence and knickered at him. He knew they were playing him, but he still went over to the pair.

"Here," he said, holding out a pellet in each hand. They took them and began nosing his coat looking for more, "You'll get your hay later. Don't eat it so fast next time," Grant forked over their hay ration and turned to go, but was stopped short by his coattails. He turned quickly but the responsible horse had already turned his head away and was the perfect image of a well behaving horse. "Knock it off Roy. One of these times you grab my coat there's gonna be flesh there." The horse flicked an ear and seemed to grin at him.

Sighing, he walked off to feed the rest of the animals. What was left didn't take long. The 4 milkcows and half dozen goats all slept and ate together. And the chickens and geese only took a bucket of grain.

He returned to the barn and hung up his pitchfork. Retrieving his carbine, he stepped outside and closed the door.

Now he only had one chore left to do before he could go to the house for breakfast. Walking to the wellhouse, he went inside and picked up a gascan. Pouring a half hours worth of fuel into the generator he punched the button and the old machine roared to action, bringing the pump to life.

At this, the entire corral came alive with activity. All the pens the livestock was in had waterers in them, even the chickenhouse had plumbing going inside. Every creature in the pens had it figured out that there was only the space of a half hour in the morning there was water and none the rest of the day. As long as they drank at that time, the absence of water the rest of the day had no effect on them. The generators loud rattling was enough to alert the animals and rarely did they miss it.

The Stout's corral was built close to the river, and running a generator shouldn't have been neccesary, but it simply wasn't feasible to try and water everything there. And a half hours gas wasn't missed even with todays economy considering the amount of fuel they had.

His chores finished, he walked to the main ranch house. That was the place all the cooking was done in order to lessen the number of stoves working and burning energy. They started the generators for a hour in early morning during breakfast, at noon for dinner and again in the evening for supper. During that time they were able to run the cooking stoves and had enough power left to recharge their radios, appliance batteries and the rest of their rechargable items.

Grant shut the door behind him and stripped off his outer work clothes and set his carbine and magazine pouch alongside the door. Walking into the dining room he sat down in a chair alongside his father. Glancing around the table he noticed that the Caflans were absent. Royal Lunden was there, his wife, Betty, had just sat down and Grant's mother, Deb, set the last platter of food on the table and sat down as well.

"Hey Dad, Where are the Caflans at? he asked.

John looked up from the notebook spread out in front of him and replied, "Oh. They got that old woodstove in working order. With four of them they decided to use that from now on. Deb told them it didn't matter, but they said they don't want to impose on us. Plus Dale isn't up to coming over and Lori doesn't want to leave him alone."

Grant nodded and looked at the paper John was studying, "What's that?"

"Plans to a ethanol still. Got it off the internet about a week before we lost it. Mildly curious at that time, I figured I should look at it harder."

Taking some of the food and putting it on his plate, Grant asked him another question, "What can we do with it? We looked into that. We KNOW ethanol lowers milage, and it is tough on engines that aren't built for it. Thats important right now, who knows when new vehicles are gonna be made."

John had a full mouth so Royal replied, "We don't. If we blend the ethanol with regular diesel fuel, people would still accept it. Right now a lot of people want fuel, ANY fuel. This stuff can be blended and then we can use it for trading. Save the pure diesel and gas for our own use."

John nodded, "Thats right. But right now we are busy. TOO busy. What we are planning on doing is giving these plans to Claton," he said, reffering to one of their neighbors, "He will build it, tend and operate it and in exchange he will keep half the output for himself. Thats fair considering he doesn't have any grain left. In exchange for us supplying him with grain for it and seed in the spring we get half. We figure what we will get trade wise from the ethanol will be more than selling the grain outright for food."

Grant shrugged, "Sounds pretty decent. You been thinking on it awhile it looks like."

"Yeah. Basically since the power went off. Claton agreed to it about a week ago."

Deb interrupted after this, "Sorry to interrupt shop talk guys," a small smile betraying the fact she wasn't, "Grant. Sharon is sleeping in?"

He nodded, "Yeah. I figured I would let her. Been a long stay for her."

Deb shook her head sympathetically, "Yeah it was. I will put together something for her before you leave," there was a pause," Okay go ahead on what you were talking on."

Turning to Grant, John asked him, "You gonna insulate her room today?"

"I was planning on it. I was going to take the pickup and haul the stuff out there. Gonna be a pretty heavy load, what with the insulation strips, the heater and batteries, and the other stuff."

"Okay. I am going to run those plans up to Claton. When I get back, me and Royal are going to start digging on the extra root cellar. With as much food items as we got we better get them into a tight bunker rather than just sitting out in that shed where coons, mice or something else can get into them," John pushed back his chair and stood up to leave.

Grant polished off his plate and stood up as well, "You're going to use the backhoe?" he asked.

"Yeah. No way we are going to move that much dirt by hand. Even so, after your done insulating Sharon's room, I want you to come back and help us."

"Okay will do," Grant put his coat back on,grabbed the food basket his mother had prepared and started the walk back to his trailer.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer:You know the drill...Only my own characters.

Timeline Layout:Bombs+61-63? days. Set the day after the episode Blackjack.

Series Layout:This is set in the Chinook Series. It focus's around the Stout family 15 miles from a small town Called Chinook. Chinook is roughly 65 miles North of Jericho and 135 Miles south of Blackjack trading post.

Chapter Layout: Trying to outline mainly a NORMAL day...Remember...Real life isn't constant action and drama like portrayed on TV

Warnings: Mild language.

Feedback: Please leave, even if it is saying I should go shoot myself to prevent more writing

--

Walking into the trailer house Grant found Sharon awake and exploring her new residence.

"Hey. Where you been?" she asked.

"Went down to the main house. Had chores to do and I ate breakfast," he replied.

She looked at her watch, "It's only 6:30."

He chuckled, "We get up early here. We have a lot of work to get done. Here," he handed her the basket his mother had prepared, "Mom packed some food for your breakfast. I will be back in awhile. I got to go load up a pickup with some stuff to work on your room."

"Stuff?" she asked. Looking into the basket she had laid out the contents and began eating.

"Insulation strips, space heater, battery for it. Stuff like that. Be back in about a half hour." Sharon nodded as he walked out the door to the pickup parked outside.

A half hour later the pickup pulled up outside the trailer and Grant stepped out. Grabbing a roll of insulation he walked inside. Sharon had just finished and repacked the plates and dishes inside the basket and now she turned to watch him.

Grant walked past her towards her bedroom, "There's more in the pickup. Bring in anything that is laying in the bed. There's a coat and a pair of gloves for you in the cab."

After several trips everything in the pickup had been brought into the trailer. Now working inside, Grant and Sharon both shed their coats before getting started.

"How much exactly are we going to be doing?" Sharon asked.

"Well...It's gonna be done pretty crudely. These walls,"Grant made a motion around him, "are thin plywood. Not going to stand up to much. Just going to be adding strips of insulation to the inside. Not great, but it is a improvement of what they are."

"What type of insulation is it?" she asked again, eyeing the strips warily.

"Hell if I know. They were just rolled up in the back of a hardware store in Goodland. Might be asbestos for all I know. Me and dad figured that for one winter we wouldn't worry bout it. Next summer we'll do a full renovation."

She nodded and looked at the other stuff he had scattered on the floor, "What's powering this?" she asked, pointing to a space heater, "I thought it required electricity?"

"It does. Right now we are using a power converter. Remember before the bombs there were those converters you could hook up to a pickup battery and run a electric power tool? Well Dad was able to scrap something together to work the same way with these. We run two pair in each room to reduce the juice drawn from the each battery. Generally the pair run for 2 weeks before they need recharging. The heaters are only set to 40 degrees to conserve how long it runs. Keep you from freezing to death, but you got to wear a heavy shirt most of the time," Grant smiled at her somewhat surprised look.

"You showed up after we have had two months to improvise. We weren't this well set up then. Then we had to run a generator for everything and didn't have any type of heating system. Now most of our heat comes from these space heaters. We have put extra insulation like this stuff on the walls and roof of all our rooms to keep the heat a little better. Now all we run the generators is to recharge batteries and at the same time cook meals."

Sharon shook her head, "Well. You certainly have set things up pretty good." She hesitated and the continued, "Thanks"

Grant was a little startled, "For everything? Like what?"

"Oh...Getting me out of Blackjack...Letting me set up here. I know I must be making a hole in your plans by being here. I appreciate it," Sharon sort of acted embarassed when she said the last part.

"Like I said, don't worry about it. Your like family and we won't have it any other way. Remember, your not imposing and don't worry about asking for something if you want it."

Sharon nodded. There was a moment of awkward silence and they both turned to work. With both of them working it didn't take long to finish insulating the room. Although it wasn't strenuous labor and it was cool inside the trailer, both were in a sweat by the time they were done.

"Finished," Grant said, dropping the hammer on the floor. He looked at the room, the insides now completely four inches thicker and a light pink fuzz.

He turned to Sharon, "I'm thirsty. Lets get something to drink and then pick up what's left and take back to the shed."

She nodded approval and followed him into the kitchen. The fridge didn't work, but Grant walked to a trapdoor leading to the crawlspace under the trailer. Lifting it up revealed a row of differing food and drinks laying on the crawlspace's dirt floor. He reached down and picked up a pair of bottles. Keeping them there ensured that they were cool, yet being concealed from outside prevented them from freezing.

He handed one to Sharon, "Mom's homemade beer," he said, "There's also water bottles there too. This is just something for tastebuds, not rehydrating."

Sharon took and eyed it apprehensively, "Deb know you got these?" she asked.

Grant was silent a moment before he burst into laughter, "You kidding?" Seeing she wasn't, his mirth subsided and he continued, "Of course...You know that as long as I use discretion Mom lets me drink. Hell, I was able to go into the Mint bar in Chinook and the bartender would sell me a sixpack. I never have gotten drunk and never caused trouble. So," he shrugged and tipped up the bottle.

Sharon leaned back and opened her bottle, "Yeah. I forgot. Before the bombs went off I was living in St. Louis for two years. You remember that. I was back for Uncle Jonathan's funeral when the bombs hit. Everything is different there."

Grant nodded before chuckling, "Things are a lot different around here ain't they? I don't think I can name a single kid over 12 who doesn't own his own gun, if not 2 or 3. And I would say most anyone over 15 has had a drink. Half of the teenagers who go to take their drivers test have been driving for 5 years already," Grant paused and thought a moment, "I really don't know if I could take living in a big city like you were. Things are so different than around here."

She nodded, "Yeah. In a way I never should have left. But... I'm back now." She took a sip and then asked Grant a question.

"What exactly have you been doing since the bombs went off? I haven't seen anyone I know for almost 2 months. And I just got here yesterday...It...It just seems like two months of my life are gone and I remember NOTHING about it."

Grant took a minute to think back. In two ways it seemed like time had flown by. And in another that it just crawled. He took a breath and started.

"Well its tough to describe it all...we did a bunch of salvage runs. Scrounged up about anything we would or might use. You wouldn't believe what people were taking. They were worried about getting things for that week. For an example I will use this. Whatever abandoned stores that sold firearms... The entire shelves were cleaned of ammunition, but the back shelves were loaded with components. Powder, bullets, everything you needed to make your own. We picked up enough supplies to load over 50,000 rounds of ammunition. Everywhere was like that. People were stealing fuel and anything else they needed right then." He paused as he thought of it and continued, "Dad figured stuff would last a long time. Guess he was right... Anyway. We went after that kinda stuff. Tires, solar panels, outfit parts. Stuff that won't be available unless production starts again. Fuel at least might be produced when stuff is halfways back to normal. But pickup tires and parts won't be top on the list of priorities."

As he paused again Sharon broke in, "That was okay? I mean...I was sort of isolated in what I saw and heard. Isn't there any law anywhere?"

Grant shook his head, "None. At least none where we were. Chinook isn't terribly bad, but the 108 gang is sorta headlocked with the police. Didn't see anything any place else...wait..I take it back. There were two Colby police officers. Both of them gunned down. Me and Dad buried them," Grant still blanched a little when he thought of it. Two men trying to keep some semblance of order and then killed for the trouble.

"That's terrible. Things were that bad?" Sharon asked.

Grant looked at her a second before replying, "Makes a Mad Max movie look like a comedy. Whatever you saw is exactly like the rest of the country. I lost count of the wrecked cars and dead bodies alongside the roads. Almost every building we came to, homes and stores alike were stripped of anything of value. Everywhere we went there were starving refugees, rape victims, parentless kids... And too many to do a damned thing about it."

Sharon noticed the last part struck a tender spot on him. His grip on the bottle tightened and he seemed to deflate slightly, so she changed the subject, "And you guys...How is this place going?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and brightened again, "Well, we are okay. We were lucky. We filled ALL the fuel tanks 3 days before the bombs hit. We heard fuel prices were gonna jump so we stocked up. Got plenty of fuel for our generators. The main house is using a lot of solar power. Not really sure how to use them so we probably aren't getting 100 percent effeciency out of them. But its enough for mom to run the stove and washing machine whenever she wants."

"Had any problems with refugees? I know that most of my...owners... had problems with "fugees" as they called them, causing problems."

"No. Not a lot. We are a long ways off of a highway. And this road isn't a route to take anyway. So far only a few stragglers have come through. Worst problem has been looters and snoopers," Grant finished his beer and sat the bottle on the table before continuing.

"Someone stole some wheat out of the grain bins. That's why I sleep out here. To keep a eye on things. Anyway, now we run a cable through the door and wall of the bins and padlock it. They can still cut the padlocks, but it stops the average skimmer... As for snoopers. So far we have only caught one guy, but I know there have been others. The one we caught was from Jenson's outfit," referring to a local criminal family.

"Jenson's? I thought people would go vigilante on them with law and order going to hell?" Sharon was genuinely surprised, having assumed a rival group or vigilantes would annihilate the group of somewhat amateurs.

"Yeah. Seems like they been expanding. Dad has been meaning to go scout their buildings sometime. All we know is what people have been telling us and what little we have seen. They got a corner on the drug market for now. A few people said they knocked over some National Guard armories and got a lot of heavy hardware, but I think that's probably a lot of imagination and 5th hand information. They might have gotten some. But I doubt they got everything from four or five armories."

He paused a moment and hesitantly asked a question, "Well...uh... How are you doing? Now that is. You seem to be in okay health. And...uh... you dont look...worked over recently."

She was silent for a couple moments and then a forced smile appeared on her face, "Okay. I guess I got used to it. I don't think on it. What has happened, happened. Nothing I can do about it." Although she spoke upbeat, her body language and face easily showed that every word was a lie.

Grant decided not to push the subject and moved on to another one, "Okay. Well if you're finished we should get back to the main house. Dad is doing some work and would like my help."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:You know the drill...Only my own characters.

Timeline Layout:Bombs+61-63? days. Set the day after the episode Blackjack.

Series Layout:This is set in the Chinook Series. It focus's around the Stout family 15 miles from a small town Called Chinook. Chinook is roughly 65 miles North of Jericho and 135 Miles south of Blackjack trading post.

Warnings: Mild language.

Grant pulled the pickup to a stop alongside the main house, "Mom's inside. I will be out helping dad."

"Okay. See you later," Sharon slammed the door behind her and walked up to the house door. Opening it, she walked right into the extended arms of Deb. After a minutes embrace she pulled away and looked at Sharon, "Well. You look better than yesterday." She commented.

Sharon nodded.

"You sleep okay?" Deb asked.

"Yeah,I'm okay. Little cold, but should be better tonight. What with all the work Grant did on my room," Sharon sort of shrugged slightly, "Where's Betty?" she asked.

" She went out to help Royal and John with the root celllar. Come in and take off your coat. I about have dinner done , but it will be half an hour before they come in. Why don't you just sit down for awhile until I can stop and talk."

"Uh...can I help? I feel like I should be helping out after all you have done. Grant said to not worry about it, but... I still feel obligated."

By now Deb had returned to the kitchen and Sharon had followed her in. Standing in front of the stove Deb had her back to Sharon. She didn't reply for several minutes, instead taking the lid off a pot on the stove and placing its contents onto a platter alongside.

Finally she turned to Sharon before replying, "Well...Believe me when I say this. Finding you, and knowing you are alive and safe, has been a huge relief for me and John," she hesitated before continuing, "Your parents were our closest friends for over 15 years. When we found out what happened to them...It was a shock, it truly was... John blamed himself for the longest time for it...Our knowing that you are here and safe with us...You being here has been as much of a boost for us as anything."

Sharon became slightly embarassed at this outpouring and lightly replied, "Oh...well. Anyway..," There was a moment of awkward silence and then Deb spoke.

"So...Uh...How have you been the last few months? You look terribly skinny," Deb eyed Sharon. She was still wearing her T-shirt from her stay at Blackjack and it did little to conceal the gaunt form.

Sharon felt the same feeling as when Grant had asked earlier. Part wary, and partly ashamed and embarassed by what had happened. Faking a smile she replied, "Oh..Okay. Things weren't as bad as they...could..have been I guess."

Deb noticed she had become more guarded and when Sharon replied with the obvious lie, she let it drop.

"Here," Deb handed Sharon a platter, "Set this on the table."

Sharon took it and almost couldn't resist taking a bite directly off the plate. The platter contained a massive chunk of beef roast. Some was already sliced and it still dripped with juices from potatoes, and onions. A huge change from the potatoe peelings, and chunks of half rotten, then cooked deermeat she had been eating only 3 days before.

She sat the platter on the table and turning around almost ran into Deb as she sat a bowlful of potatoes, onions and carrots on the table, "They were in with the roast while it was simmering." Deb said briefly.

This was almost too much to contain, but Sharon was able to, until Deb placed another huge plate, this one containing biscuits, on the table as well. Finally she had to ask, "How many people are there? All told that is?"

Deb had returned to the oven and pulled a tray of bread loaves out before replying, "Only six, including you. Dale, his wife and their two kids have been eating at their house ever since Dale was shot. Once he recovers fully and isn't bothered by walking a lot they will be here as well."

Sharon still was unbelieving, "All this food for six people? And you can do this?"

Deb nodded, "Yes. Why?"

"Well... Wherever I was at...three or four different places, there was never enough food. A lot of the time, there was only a rough bread and maybe some meat, or potatoes. I mean this," she looked over the assortment of food on the table, "Is wonderful in comparison. Almost unbelievable."

Deb smiled, "We have it a lot better than most people. We have enough food that we do not have to worry about rationing. We had to butcher one of our herd cows for meat, but that was minor. We still have about 140 pair. And there is nowhere to sell the calves now, except direct to whoever wants it. And, we buy our food in bulk to save on cost. We have almost 20, 50 pound bags of flour alone. Not to mention what they found on salvage. We don't have the waste we did before, But we still eat normal, which is important, as much work as they are doing."

"What exactly are they doing right now? Grant said he was going to help."

"Well, today they are digging out space for a root cellar to store food and other items that shouldn't be exposed to the weather outside. But they have been doing a lot more over the past month. Several big underground storage bunkers. They have also reworked the flood levee around the buildings. Sortof "Defencized it" for lack of a better word. Ask John about that part later, he can tell you more than me." Deb paused and glanced out the window, "Looks like they are coming back in. Take that pitcher of iced tea and add some sugar to it and then set out the glasses. I still have to set out the plates."

Sharon moved to do as she was told. Grant, John and Royal and Betty Lunden entered the house and after removing their clothes and setting aside their rifles moved as one to the mudrooms wash basin. It took almost 5 minutes apiece to become respectable enough to be seated at the table.

They sat down at the table and were silent for several minutes, just relaxing and appreciating being seated in a chair. Finally John spoke as Deb seated herself at the table, "Remind me never to complain about working dirt in June again."

Deb chuckled, "Grounds getting hard I assume?"

He nodded, "The backhoe is just ripping out chunks. And that only after a lot of effort. But of course it being cold and hard doesn't stop the dust from getting in your eyes, ears and coat."

Grant gave a small laugh, "At least I managed to be late enough to not have to do much." Even this attempt at humor was simply too much for the exhausted bunch.

After that final comment, for almost half an hour no words were spoke, other than muffled requests for something to be passed, or refilled. The sheer exhaustion precluded conversation. Finally as the main dishes were finished and Deb passed around a small plate of cinnamon rolls. These, with their large amounts of sugar and spicing, were the only items that there was only one apiece for the dinner tables occupants.

It was then that everyone relaxed a little and conversation began. After a few minutes John turned to Sharon, "So," There was a awkward pause, "How you been? What's been going on in the last few mont.." he snapped off the end of his sentence and bit onto a large portion of his roll, the remainder of the sentence coming out in a mumbled mess.

Behind Sharon, Deb was making almost frantic throat slashing motions. John had taken the hint and stopped before continuing. Although Sharon had her back to Deb, she had a feeling of what happened. A small glance back, to see Deb with her hands rigidly at her sides was enough to indicate it.

Still not wanting to answer nonetheless, she replied with a question, "Deb said you have...uh... Defenced...this place.. What did she mean?"

Somewhat relieved that she wasn't attempting to answer John swallowed then spoke, "Well, this levee is solid dirt, about four feet high and probably 3 times as thick. In a few spots we dug out small bunkers, put a plywood roof over the top, added a 1 foot by 2 foot shooting port and then covered it with dirt again. Mainly so we can shoot and not be quite as good of targets. Then about 50 yards out from the levee we strung a bunch of barbed wire entanglements. Sortof delay someone while he gets picked off."

The answer surprised Sharon. Hearing of these wartime like measures being talked about casually seemed strange, "Do you really have to do all this? I mean, things can't really be bad enough to actually have to fortify your own homes.Who are you defending from? Half-starving refugees?"

John's reply was simple and straight forward, intended to inform her without scaring her too badly, "Raiders. Right now as much as we got, anyone who would know about it might try and take it. Right now there are less than 6 people who can fight if they got to. We are using any advantage we can. Our neighbors will help, but how long will it take them to get here? And what can our neighbors do if there is 30 or 40 guys? Not a helluva lot unless we got measures like these. And even if we don't need them, I am not going go gamble my life, or anyone elses on what might happen."

When John paused Royal added in, "We, along with everyone else for 5 miles around, have worked to just prevent people from coming here, PERIOD. The one bridge that leads across the river, we drug an old car onto it and welded it to the railing. Nothing is coming through there. Everywhere else," he shrugged, "We just watch. Almost anyone that goes through is noticed by someone or another."

Wanting to change the subject Deb spoke up, "So what is the plans for this afternoon?"

Thinking a moment John replied, "Digging out that root cellar is only going to progress with the backhoe. If Grant wants he could take Sharon and outfit her with a gun. And Betty can stay here. All I want is Royal around in case something doesn't go quite right. That sound okay with you guys?"

They all nodded, then Grant spoke, "I will take her down to the river, should be as good a place as any to practice."

Sharon looked a bit uneasy and finally said, "Well. Okay. But I haven't used a gun for...probably three years."

John stood up from his chair, with a small smile he replied, "That's fine. Nothing has changed since then."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:You know the drill...Only my own characters.

Timeline Layout:Bombs+61-63? days. Set the day after the episode Blackjack.

Series Layout:This is set in the Chinook Series. It focus's around the Stout family 15 miles from a small town Called Chinook. Chinook is roughly 65 miles North of Jericho and 135 Miles south of Blackjack trading post.

Chapter Layout: Okay...Ending a little...rough, but I decided to leave it due to not having anything better.

Warnings: Mild language.

--  
Leading Sharon over to a large rug laying on the floor, he flipped it back and revealed a large trapdoor.

Opening the door, it revealed a long row of steps going downward., Grant led her into the basement gunroom. Walking down the steps he flipped on a light. It flickered a moment and then remained on.

"Sorry about the bad lighting. We took out three quarters of the lightbulbs down here to reduce the drain... And this...Is my happy place," Grant said motion with his arm around him, "Some people like basketball, some like rockclimbing. Me? I come down here. Nothing like being surrounded by your hobby to relax you."

Sharon looked around her and her mouth dropped in shock. Since the last time she had been here 2 years previously the room had been expanded to a full half of the basement.

The one wall was completely lined with a double row of upright gunracks, the space above them on the wall itself adorned with handgun pegs. Each slot contained a rifle, shotgun or handgun, with no vacant spots. The second wall was lined of massive gunsafes, with ammunition cases piled on top. The third wall was invisible behind large shelves laden with ammunition. The final wall near the door had equipment to reload ammunition, and the many accessories needed to use a gun effectively, such as holsters, slings and telescopic sites.

Grant chuckled over her surprised look, "Impressive isn't it. A lot of them are our own. But some of them we picked up while we were salvaging. There has been some guns me and dad never could have afforded, we have picked up in...places.."

Sharon looked at the racked guns, then around the room, "Nice room. Lotta guns." She started to make a joke, and then glanced at Grant. His face had taken on a solemn look.

"I should mention. You don't tell ANYONE about this. No one can know we got this much here. For our own safety. This would be a jackpot to people like the Jensons or Jonah Prowse. You got to promise me you won't tell anyone?"

"Uh... Right. Yeah...I won't tell anyone. I guess I didn't think of that, but sure. You got my word."

Grant relaxed and then turned to face the interior of the room, "Anyway.. On to business I guess. So...When was the last time you have used a gun?"

Sharon looked a little guilty before replying, "Three years. And then I only used dad's deer rifle for a week during hunting season."

Grant hid a grimace and nodded his head, "Okay. Start from the basics. I won't bore you with the gun safety lecture. That part I know you remember. Finger off the trigger, assume it's always loaded, never point at something you don't wanna shoot yadda, yadda, yadda."

Sharon grinned as she realized he went through them covertly, but without the long lecture.

"Let's see. Something light, and at the same time won't kick the living shit outta you. Think you can still hit anything?" Grant asked. He said it with a smile, but it was obvious he was seriously wondering.

Sharon shrugged, "Not expertly, but I think okay. I used to shoot an awful lot."

Grant nodded appreciatively, "Guns are something like a bike. You never forget it. Anything in particular you like?" He asked, gesturing around the room, "My gun is a part of me. It is an extension of my arms. Pick whatever you feel comfortable with."

Sharon looked around her a moment before giving Grant a small smile, "I have NOOO clue. There is way to many guns here for me to pick. Tell you what I want though. It is gonna have to be light. If it's heavy I am going to leave it. And...well. I am sorta embarassed by this, but it can't recoil too much. I'm not used to shooting anymore so I can't take much."

This gave Grant a big smile, "Great. I love this kinda stuff." Seeing the slight flicker of confusion, he continued, "I enjoy pawing through guns, that's one of the reasons I guess I don't have many friends. I never get out."

Sharon couldn't tell if he was joking or not. But watching him begin plucking stuff off the shelves, she didn't doubt it could be true.

Finally he came back to her and set a pair of guns on the table in the center of the room. He handed her a revolver in a holster, "Here put this on. We will go down to the river and see how well you can shoot them. And carry this." He handed her a shotgun.

"We will see how weighted down you get," he said. His face remained straight, but Sharon was sure inside he was really checking to see how well she could carry the load.

Turning, he grabbed several boxes of ammunition off the shelves, "I will carry the ammo."

Sharon went up the stairs first, followed by Grant. He flipped off the lights behind him and shut the door behind them. Before they went outside he slung his carbine over his back and checked to make sure his handgun was still securely on his hip.

"You go armed everywhere?" Sharon asked.

"Anymore, yeah. Never can tell when you might need it. And I don't wanna be in a spot where I need a gun, but don't have one." The deadpan seriousness with which he said it gave Sharon a small shiver.

Grant opened the door to leave and Deb poked her head around the corner, "When you and Sharon get back, bring her straight back here. She should have a bath while the solar power is still on to heat the water."

Grant nodded and Sharon replied with a 'Thank you' before they both went outside and began the walk to the river. It was only short walk, but they took their time. Grant showed her some of the various animals they had obtained since her last visit.

When they reached the river, Grant carefully laid down his gun and then took Sharon's from her.

"Pump action 12 gauge shotgun. Its barrel is cut off to half its original length to make it lighter. This gun is gonna kick the livin' shit out of you. The only reason I chose it for you is because you won't shoot it unless you have to. Then you will never notice it," Grant paused and slid some shells into the tube underneath the barrel and then handed it back to Sharon, "See those 3 sticks out there about 35 yards?" He asked motioning to 3 broken off fenceposts on the opposite bank of the river.

She nodded. "Now fire 1 shot into each as fast as you can. And remember. This ain't the movies. You still have to AIM the shotgun, no firing from the hip and automatically killing everything in a 50 yard radius to your front."

He barely finished speaking before the first blast deafened him. The other two shots roared seconds apart, nearly deafening him. Splinters of wood flew from each stick signaling a hit. Sharon turned and with a small grin handed him the gun, "Good enough?" she asked.

"Damn, "Grant said, poking a finger in one ear, "Give a guy some warning will ya." He said it jokingly and Sharon took no offence.

"Mind telling me how, after three years of not handling a gun, you were able to do that? I doubt I could do that after that long a absence."

She smiled, "You gave me the simplest, damn easy gun to use. You didn't think I would be able to use it, much less anything else." Although light hearted, she still said it with a slight tone of annoyance.

Grant chuckled, "Okay. Ya caught me. Face it. Three years is a long time. I figured you would have to start all over. But really though, I think that would best suit you. It is good enough out to about 30 yards. Under that your shotgun's buckshot will do in anything you will have to. After that you will need slugs, and we won't worry about them today. "

Reaching into a back pocket he pulled out the box of handgun shells and tossed it to her, "Okay smarty. Lets see how you shoot your handgun."

Sharon made a face at him and then loaded her revolver. While she did Grant spoke up in the background, "Ruger .357 magnum revolver. With those shells it won't kick and will let you get used to it."

Somewhat exasperated Sharon turned to him, "Knock it off. Just because you think you know everything there is about guns you don't have to try and prove it."

Grant looked surprised, but shrugged, "I am not. You have not been around guns. Right now you are looking at these as something you," he exagerated his voice into that of a shrill whiny teenager, "HAVE TO do."

Sharon started to retort when Grant cut her off, "This is damn serious business. Before the bombs, maybe, just MAYBE...You would never need a gun. Now it is the only thing that stands between life and death... or worse...In your case you could just be enslaved again. Your carrying a gun MIGHT not help. But it sure as hell raises your odds. And it doesn't do you any good if you view it as a thing you HAVE to do."

"So? Why do I need to know about my guns? As long as I use them safely, and know how to use them why do I have to know every little detail? Your telling me everything, almost down to the date they were manufactured."

Grant was becoming perturbed. To him it seemed that after all his hinting she should understand his goal. To Sharon it seemed as if he was being over-protective and nit-picky.

"BECAUSE. In order to become good with your gun you got to know it, every little detail. I am not asking you to memorize every gun in existence, just the two you will be carrying.. What good will it do you if you have to reload your gun, and you take half a minute to do it? What good will it be if you accidentally grab the wrong shells for your gun? Either they won't work period, or they will fire in your gun and blow it up. You have got to know every part, piece and how to use them."

Grant paused a moment and realized that he had pushed a little to hard. Sharon had backed off a foot or two and looked like she was becoming overwhelmed.

Grant cocked an eyebrow and then walked alongside her, "I won't downplay this. Your doing good. But don't get cocky. Doing that leads to carelessness around guns, that is more dangerous than someone else trying to shoot you. And if you think you are too good, your gonna mess up when you need number one performance."

"So think of it this way... Your good, but the next guy is a hair better. Just keep practicing. And when you see the next guy, assume you are not as good. Either suckerpunch him, run before he can do anything, or confront him and hope he doesn't blow your ass away," Grant smiled lightly and let Sharon digest what he had said.

She relaxed and smiled at the last part as well. A second later she regained her composure and asked him a question, "Okay...I get that...How well do you do?"

Grant shook his head, "Unh uh. I ain't getting pulled into that. I know what I can do and that is fine. You concentrate on your own shooting."

Sharon raised an eyebrow, "Oh? chicken? bwuck,bwhuck." Long ago she had figured out this was a easy way to goad him into doing something he was hesitant to do.

Grant recognized this and bristled at it. But he knew that it would eat on him nonetheless, being called a chicken and not responding, "Okay... 6 shots...that's all. Then you work yourself. Okay?"

After she nodded, Grant turned towards the 3 sticks she had first shot at, roughly 35 yards distant. He paused several seconds to gather his nerves. Finally comfortable he pulled his revolver from it's holster. Three pairs of shots echoed through the river bottom and each of the broken off posts had 2 extra holes in them.

Before Sharon could comment he turned to her. He opened the cylinder and ejected the empties. As he reloaded the cylinder he explained, "6 shots. Probably 2 seconds. Remember, that is after thirty THOUSAND rounds spend training," slipping the revolver back in it's holster he stepped back, "Now you get to practicing. You got 50 rounds to go through before we go back. Pick out your own targets, any distance. You should be comfortable shooting at all distances, from 5 yards to 50."

It took less than a half hour and Sharon had shot the box of ammunition, slowly improving the entire time. The handgun took longer to get used to than the shotgun, but by the time the lesson was over she could keep all of her shots on half of a five gallon bucket at 30 yards.

When she finally finished, Grant picked up the empty shell casings for reloading and put them back in the box.

Handing her the box, he asked her a question, "You did good today. We won't have time to do this for awhile though. Do you feel competent enough to carry a gun? Because if your not, I have to know. We can arrange stuff where someone will be within earshot of you. And don't worry. It isn't a bother."

She pocketed the box and didn't hesitate with the answer, "Yeah, I can do it...Uh...Thanks for the help and...for those thoughts." Refering to the motivational "What-ifs" he had told her.

Grant looked at his watch, "Tell you what. You go back to the house. I am gonna go see if dad needs any help. Mom will be waiting for you to take a bath."

Sharon grinned, "You sound less than thrilled."

"Hey what can I say..I finally got a excuse to not take one...We don't have power."

As Sharon turned to go, Grant hesitated. Throughout the entire day, it had seemed as if Sharon felt detached. Although her body was here, he was sure that her mind was still at Blackjack. Feeling welcome and at home was what she needed to adjust and he knew it would take time.

But until then he almost couldn't stand it. It wasn't for himself, but he felt sorry for her. Before now she had always been one of the most carefree and seemingly always happy person. Now she seemed to always be on-guard and almost withdrawn, except for direct contact such as talking.

Taking a chance he followed her up the bank of the river. As they reached the top he reached out a hand. Balling it into a fist he ruffled the top of her hair.

She ducked down as if she had been stung and the look of wariness returned.

He leaned forward, "THAT is for doing that to me until I got taller than you." He sort of smirked, hoping to pass it off as a joke. They both knew that as a kid, he had hated people scruffing the top of his head. Sharon knew that and had always done it until he had gotten taller than her. She only quit when he was able to get her in a headlock and playfully drop her to her knees and make her call uncle.

The wariness left her eyes and for a brief moment amusement flickered in them, before being replaced by the old look.

"Uncle," she replied softly, before turning and continuing towards the house.

As Grant turned he felt his mood lighten a little. Although things were bad, everything was still seeming to go higher


End file.
